Playing Stupid
by EasyBusyCrazy
Summary: A coma lands Duo out of commission, leaving Shinigami to run amok. Can the God of Death play stupid long enough to avoid OZ detection?
1. A Heard of Lemmings

Playing Stupid

By Korogi Nagisa

Chapter 1

A Heard of Lemmings

Duo Maxwell was bored. Same old mission, same old fight. Something about slicing hapless Leo suits to shreds just wasn't what it used to be. Stifling a yawn and ordering his Gundam Deathscythe to heft its thermal scythe, the nearest Leo t'was cleft in twain. Hmm. 'Cleft in twain.' He'd have to remember that one and use it on Wu Fei when next the opportunity presented itself. With Chinese as the Shen Long pilot's mother tongue, Wu Fei's cluelessness on the finer points of the English language was often amazing feats of vein-throbbing frustrations and red-faced cursing.

The next Leo had its head lobbed off before it was kicked between the legs.

Next one: de-armed, Deathscythe poking out the Mobile Suit's eyes before backhanding it into the ground.

A random Suit was dismembered at the right knee, Deathcythe nudging the mecha just enough that it tipped over slowly until it crashed into the Suit Duo had just de-armed.

"Man, this is boooooor – riiiiiiing," he complained to the monitors.

It was Trowa who responded, Heavyarms' feed popping up in a corner of Duo's cabin. "Then the sooner we finish this mission, the sooner we can get back to the safe house."

"And have dinner?"

Trowa only sighed.

"I vote for pizza!"

"Again?" It was Wu Fei who voiced his complaint before napalming his current opponent.

"I agree with Wu Fei," Quatre put in. "We've had pizza three nights in a row this week."

Duo pouted, Deathscythe promptly flipping the bird to the next Mobile Suit that was mutilated under his boredom. "Fine, fine. As long as it's not Wuffie's turn to cook."

"There is nothing wrong with my cooking, Maxwell!"

"Rice is boring. Pizza is not." That was just a simple fact of life.

"Enough chatter," Heero's stoic voice said over the unneeded conversation. "Finish the mission and shut up."

Duo pouted again and attempted to give the next Leo an atomic wedgie, the sheer impossibility of the feat apparently of no consequence since Mobile Suits did not wear underwear. "Party pooper." The Gundam pilot would have happily returned to mutilating Mobile Suits were it not for the fact that radar was pinging back something big in a corner of his cabin. "Uh, guys…"

"Shut up, Maxwell!" Wu Fei rang back through the comm. link.

"Fine, fine. Shutting up. But I think you all would be interested to know that it looks like the Good Witch of the North Confederation Fleet is about to drop a house on our asses. Check your radar."

"Damn," Trowa answered back quietly. "Where did that come from?"

"No, Trowa, don't…"

"Wu Fei's butt?" Duo answered the rhetorical question.

"… give him an excuse," Wu Fei finished with a sigh.

"Everyone, reform." Quatre had been waiting patiently for a break in the banter. "Trowa and Wu Fei, you're with me."

"Oooh, that leaves me all alone with Heero with no one to watch."

"Pervert," someone muttered through the comms. Duo was fairly certain it was Quatre.

Swinging Deathscythe about, Duo followed Wing Zero as he leapt back into the fray, the nearest Mobile Suit lobbed off at the arms and wrists, leaving the Suit to wallow helplessly as Deathscythe turned and sat on it. "I'm still bored, ya know."

An ear-splitting whine whirled into the instrument panel, the cabin falling red as the warning appeared on his view ports. 'WARNING: High Voltage Discharge Detected.'

"Duo! Get down!" It was Quatre.

Duo had just swung around when a burst of light filled his sensors. His skin burned under the light, Duo throwing his hands up in his face as a blast lifted his Gundam off the Mobile Suit and flung him through the air.

Weightlessness took him momentarily as his Gundam took flight without his command. He braced for the inevitable teeth-chattering crash that was soon to come.

And something shifted.

The hot, blinding light became cool and Duo no longer felt like he was moving. Instead, he felt like he was lying on a hard floor, possibly concrete. _Have I been captured_? he asked himself, remaining unmoving. Having learned from Heero to first examine your surroundings with your other senses before moving, Duo attempted to figure out where he was.

The ground was hard, that much he knew. He could hear no sounds, but he could not hear the soft ringing in his ears that usually accompanied complete and total silence. There were no smells, and his hands and feet did not appear to be bound.

Carefully, he cracked open an eye and took in his surroundings.

White, as far as the eye could see. No walls, no floor. Just white. And he thought he could distinctly make out a milky fog, despite the impossibility of noticing a fog in a stark white environment. _Where am I_?

"You're on the Good Ship Lollipop. Where else?" a voice not unlike his own answered.

Duo froze. He hadn't spoken but his thought had been answered. Years of combat along side Quatre taught him that reading minds and emotions was not an impossible feat for those trained correctly. Those years had also taught Duo how to form mental defenses and barriers against Quatre's sometimes annoying intrusiveness when the blonde pilot would try to foresee Duo's random bouts of orneriness.

In an instant, said barriers were raised and Duo focused on a single image: an old man, about 90. Skinny. And completely naked.

"That's sick."

Duo latched on to his ability to annoy even the most hardened of soldiers, namely Heero. The image in his mind shifted to said skinny, butt-naked old man and a donkey.

The other voice sighed. "Before I'm mentally scarred for life, you haven't been captured, you're not back at the safe house, and you're not dead. Does that cover everything?"

Duo's mouth twitched. "Am I still wearing pants?"

The other voice chuckled. "Ah yes, forgot the most important question."

Despite not knowing anything about his surroundings or his current predicament, Duo began to sit up, noting with ire that his head felt like it weighed fifty pounds, his body ached and his head spun. "Whoa… Anyone get the number of that heard of lemmings?"

"Heard of lemmings? You can't come up with anything more creative than that?"

Duo snorted and rubbed his head gingerly. "Lemmings are small, fuzzy, and unassuming. It's funny."

"Man, you really did take quite a clunk to the old porn storage unit, didn't you?"

With a frown, Duo turned where he sat, trying to find the voice. Since everything around him was white, he had trouble determining if he could get his eyes to focus. He tested his vision with his hands, focusing on them first and then looking off into the milky white environment.

Before him and to one side, a figure stood dressed in a long black trench coat that nearly reached the floor. Dark sunglasses sat on the figure's face and their hair appeared to be tied back over their shoulders somewhere.

Focusing, Duo came back with a shock. He was looking at himself.

"Surprise!" the other exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air in an awkward representation of the one-man wave. "Glad to see me?"

Duo squinted. Right down to the meter-long braid running down the other's back, he appeared to be his mirror image. "Who are you?" He sat back. "Are you sure I'm not dead?" he asked incredulously. "And I'd never wear something as dorky as a floor-length trench coat!"

The other stuck out their tongue but ignored the trench coat crack. "What do you mean 'who are you'? You know perfectly well who I am!"

Duo snapped his fingers. "I remember!" The other smiled and nodded their head. "I was hit by some energy weapon on our latest mission, knocked all loopy. I'm either dreaming or hallucinating… maybe on some trippy drugs as I'm sure I've been inundated by half the female Winner population, and you're…" Again, the other smiled and nodded at finally being recognized. "Bob the Butt Monkey?"

The other nearly fell over at the blatant opportunity for Duo to prove his orneriness. Said braided baka was laughing his ass off as the figure pulled themselves together, dusted off his trench coat and glared behind his sunglasses. "Very funny."

"I thought so," Duo said proudly. He grinned a bit thinly. "Take off your sunglasses."

The figure smiled out of the corner of his mouth, but did as asked. As the sunglasses were removed, large black eyes glinted off the smile on the figure's face; no irises, just black.

Duo's grin turned almost feral. "Shinigami."

The other took a bow.

… to be continued.

My first attempt at Gundam humor! Plz be gentle! R&R!


	2. Ten Storey Big Boy

Playing Stupid

Chapter 2: Ten Storey Big Boy

By Korogi Nagisa

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Brief note: Takes place before Treize was killed… so I can have him in the fic. It's more fun to torment two OZ officials than one.

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The new OZ base on the southern tip of Vancouver Island sat nearly invisible amidst a thick clutch of evergreens in an alpine forest. Construction machinery still peppered the landscape, exposed rocks and felled trees still littering the hills.

Inside, half the offices still contained computers and furniture still in their packing bags and cardboard boxes, only the essential offices and facilities up and running.

And in one of the newly constructed interrogation rooms currently doubling as an experimental brain physics ward, General Treize Khushrenada tapped the hilt of the sword at his side as he watched a white-coated doctor stand back from a young man strapped firmly into a chair, slumped over.

"Did it work?" he asked absently, flipping the tip of the antique sword.

The doctor nodded absently, checking a monitor beside the man in the chair, regarding several sinuous lines monitoring the young man's vitals. "He's in deep REM sleep. It looks like it worked."

Treize allowed a smile and walked to the young man's side, looking to the doctor for permission before he began. "Ensign Gilander," he started. "Report."

The young man stirred, groaning a bit, head still slumped to his chest. "White expanse… two minds… powerful."

"Quatre Rabarba Winner was your target. Were you successful?"

A moment passed before the man spoke again. "North American… long hair in a braid…"

Treize nearly went white, coughing at his surprise. "You… you hit Duo Maxwell!?" He raised a white-gloved hand to rub a sudden headache. "Can you find Winner?"

"Close," the young man identified at Gilander murmured. "Will commandeer at next chance."

Treize couldn't help but shiver. OZ's newest experimental tactic, psychic attacks, were supposed to seize the heart of the Gundams and bring them to their knees; that heart being Quatre Winner. The unassuming pilot would be the perfect mole for acquiring information on how to finally defeat the Gundam pilots.

But with Duo Maxwell being compromised? Treize rubbed his head once more. He hoped this complete screw up wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass.

And as far as Duo Maxwell's infamous antics were reported to be, a bite in the ass would be the least of his worries.

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Shinigami swirled and twirled across the milky white scenery like a deranged ballerina, twirling and twirling, his floor length trench coat flaring about him like a black ball gown.

Duo Maxwell sat quietly on the floor as the shadowy figure danced about like a loon. "Damn, what hit me?" Duo touched his head gently.

"I believe it was a 10 storey Big Boy."

"It was some sort of energy weapon, damnit," he winced and touched his head again. "And if I'm suddenly holding a conversation with my own split personality, I'm willing to bet there was some sort of psychic attack built in with that".

The other pouted and stopped his twirling, crossing long arms over his chest. "A Big Boy is funnier than your heard of lemmings."

"I'll have to make it a point to be flattened by an army of pink kangaroos next time."

Shinigami gave himself another swirl before he disappeared in a black mist, materializing before Duo in a rat of shadows that mysteriously defied the laws of reality by existing in the stark white environment. An inquisitive face not unlike his own leaned out of the shadows, coal black eyes winking with mischievousness. "Say, you're not lookin' so hot there."

"Yeah, you try surviving a full-on battle against some strange technology and see how you fare."

"Is that a challenge?"

Duo looked up to the god and frowned a bit, taking a moment before a sly grin split his face. "Say, being a god; what does that entail?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Well, I still have a job to do. And I'm thinking two completely perverse minds are better than one."

"I _am_ immortal, after all."

Duo smiled. "Excellent."

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Quatre sat quietly on the edge of the hospital bed, sad aquamarine eyes still glancing at all the monitors and tubing that had been hooked up to his friend. This had all been his fault, somehow, it just had to have been his fault, he thought as he ran a hand over Duo's bandaged forehead.

"It's not your fault, Quatre," Irina Winner, Quatre's 22nd sister, smiled as if sensing her little brother's internal struggle. She hummed a cheery tune, more to try to perk up Quatre as she checked the drug levels that were being pumped into Duo's unusually still body. The hyper pilot who normally swung from the ceiling was unnaturally quiet as he lay in a coma.

"I saw the weapon. I saw the attack coming. I FELT the attack coming. There was someone in that blast, someone's mind. The attack was meant for me, I know it, and I should have done something!" With a vexed sound, he drew back from the hospital bed and rubbed an eye.

"Come on," Irina smiled sweetly, laying a hand on her little brother's shoulder and turning him out of the room. "Duo needs his rest."

Ignoring the fact that Duo was doomed to spend the next few weeks of his life 'resting' in a coma, Quatre allowed himself to be led from the ward.

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Shinigami awoke and cringed, a battered hand reaching up to gingerly touch his forehead. _For fucks sake, what did you do?_

_YOU said it was a 10 storey Big Boy. You tell me._

_Har har_, the god answered back. Slowly, the horrible bruise on Duo's forehead began to fade, Shinigami stretching and sitting up, taking inventory of his surroundings. Hospitals were a virtual treasure trove of medicines and equipment he could use in his mischievous doings.

He noted with a nod that the IV in his left arm was slowly dripping morphine into his system, explaining the slight feeling of euphoria he could feel fading from Duo's brain. With a flick, the IV was pulled out and what was left of the morphine bag was carefully folded and placed on the bedside table.

And there was the small issue of clothes, as Duo's body appeared to have been stripped and outfitted in an ugly white hospital gown open in the back and tied about the neck. Comical: yes. Entirely useful: no.

Shinigami sprang from the bed in a furl of bed sheets and became a cupboard-raiding, drawer-snooping fiend. Locks were picked in the blink of an eye, syringes, gauze strips and rubber tubing creating a pile on a discarded medical uniform in the middle of the room.

_Care to clue me in?_ Duo asked from their mind, enjoying a front row seat to the unfolding events.

_Gathering supplies for the chaos we're soon to start. Who are we going after again? The Institution of the Phobiacs?_

_Organization of the Zodiac_, Duo snorted back.

_Meh. Close enough._

_Our only problem is convincing everyone else that A – you're Duo Maxwell, and B – you're well enough to pilot a Gundam or take missions. You DO know how to pilot a Gundam, don't you?_

Shinigami shrugged and bundled up his booty of blundered hospital supplies. _Is it like driving a dump truck?_

_Oh brother._

Shinigami had just slung his booty over his shoulder when he stood bolt upright, listening intently. He swore he could hear footsteps.

_What is it?_ Duo whispered despite the fact only Shinigami could hear him.

_Quiet! Someone's coming!_

Dropping his loot bag and hopping across the room, Shinigami flopped back onto the hospital bed and furiously arranged the sheets about his body, laying back and closing his eyes as the curtain pulled back.

_Aw crap_.

_What? WHAT!? _Duo probed frantically.

_It's Quatre._ Confusion crept from Duo. _Quatre's the empath, right? Not to mention he has an army of annoying sisters who all seem to work at this hospital._

_Ah, I see_

_Uh…_

_What?_

_He's touching me!_

_Pervert._

_No, no! He's touching me!_

_Pervert._

_Fine. I'll settle this myself._

_Why do I get the feeling…_

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Quatre smoothed a hand over Duo's forehead and sighed, returning to his silent vigil by the hospital bed. He yawned vaguely, putting the back of his hand to his mouth a moment before looking about the room. "This is my fault," he whispered, hoping the answers to all his troubles would be somewhere in this room.

Answers he did not find. But he did spy a suspicious bundle of hospital gear haphazardly stuffed into a nurse's uniform. He frowned

Shinigami popped open an eye and closed it quickly. The action apparently went unnoticed. So, in a furl of bed sheets, medical tubing and IV bags, Shinigami sat bolt upright in bed, nearly knocking Quatre down with him. "SurPRISE!!" he yelled as if he had just bound out of a cake on the blonde's birthday.

Quatre did what any normal human being would do when faced with the annoyance that could only ooze from Duo Maxwell. He promptly fainted.

_Way to go, dolt._

_What!? How was I supposed to know he'd go all pansy on me and faint?_

_This is Quatre._

_Good point._

_Now what?_

Shinigami pondered a moment, volleying a glance between himself, his treasure of plundered supplies, and the passed out billionaire. _We steal his clothes and make a break for it!_

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It appeared that Duo Maxwell, braid and all, sauntered down the hospital corridors in a pink shirt, pastel V-neck cardigan and green pleated pants. Having stashed his hospital loot in a ventilation shaft where it wasn't sure to be found, he had snuck through the ward, past security and was intent on sauntering out the front door in his pilfered clothes.

The plan would have worked perfectly, were this not a hospital where every other doctor wasn't one of the innumerable Winner sisters. A chorus of gasps and dropping medical equipment serenaded his cat walk.

"Duo?" Trowa stood slowly from a seemingly random bench, a bit confused as he frowned and asked again. "Duo?"

Shinigami raised a hand. "Yo!"

Trowa approached slowly, beginning to sound like a broken record. "Duo?" He looked the other up and down. "Why are you wearing Quatre's clothes?"

"Ah, about that…"

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A random Winner sister screamed and promptly fainted at the sight of seeing her little brother butt naked in Duo Maxwell's hospital bed with a finger shoved unceremoniously up his nose.

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Shinigami grinned like an idiot as a swarm of Winner's checked all vitals from blood pressure to the color of his tongue. As far as medical science could tell, Duo Maxwell seemed to be the picture of perfect health, minus the faint image of a healing bruise on his forehead that had caused his apparently brief bout of being comatose.

"Hey. No hard feelings, right buddy?" Shinigami clapped Quatre on the shoulder hard enough to knock him off balance. The blonde was dressed in a sterile white hospital gown temporarily until one of his sisters could retrieve Duo's clothes and the two could make a switch.

"Y-yeah…" Quatre managed. "No hard feelings." He visibly struggled to regain his composure. "I'm just glad you're just back to your old self."

"You mean 'obnoxious' self," Wu Fei snorted.

"Is that a request?"

A few Winner sisters and most of the Gundam pilots quickly barked 'no!' before their friend could blink.

"Party poopers." Shinigami shrugged before clapped his hands and hopped in place. "So, who's up for pizza?"

Trowa hung his head and smiled. "It's our Duo, alright."

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Duo had been relieved of his duties until further notice, far to the disgruntlement of the god now in control of his body. Orders kept coming in to the other pilots, but always, Duo was forced to lag behind. Despite the fact that Shinigami argued his good health until he was blue in the face… literally… he was always ordered to stay behind. You just didn't wake up from a coma and order a pizza like nothing had ever happened. It wasn't possible from a medical standpoint. And being flattened by a marauding Mobile Suit touting a high energy pulse riffle wasn't an injury you necessarily slept off.

The latest mission had sent the balance of the pilots deep into OZ territory to destroy a supposedly secret bunker filled with experimental weaponry used primarily for the Mobile Suits. The perfect opportunity to 'permanently borrow' some of OZ's technology and retrofit it to Deathscythe and he was ordered to hold down the fort at the safe house. "It's just not fair," Shinigami snorted to himself.

_Then, let's make it fair_, Duo answered, busily figuring out how to contort his body into a pretzel in the milky white expanse of their mind. _A little redecoration may be in order? I vote we start with Wuffie's room._

"Nah, too obvious."

_Heero's room?_

"Too risky. I like my limbs where they are."

_You mean MY limbs_.

"That's what I said."

_No, you said… ack, never mind_. Duo grew silent a moment before both agreed.

"Quatre."

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To be continued…

Sorry for the long delay. Holiday season, ya know. As always, R&R!


	3. One Million Millipedes

Playing Stupid

Chapter Three

A Million Millipedes

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Duo was sitting cross legged in the milky environment. He had managed to materialize a few board games - or BORED games, as he liked to call them - and was rewriting the rules of Chutes and Ladders when Shinigami appeared suddenly before him. Duo raised a hand in greeting, not bothering to look up from his board game.

The ornery god looked about a moment in confusion. "How'd I get here?"

The other frowned. "You got here the same way you always get into my mind; without asking."

"Did you call me?"

Duo looked about a moment and spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Uh, no." He rolled his eyes and returned to his BORED game, twiddling his finger beside his temple in the universal sign of a lunatic.

"Then who…" Shinigami turned his back to Duo before crumpling into a ball where he had materialized, hands shooting up to clutch his head. The god didn't make a sound, but rolled about on the floor of the milky white expanse for a few moments before he stiffened and stopped moving altogether.

"Shin?" Boredom instantly forgotten, Duo hopped to his feet in a rain of BORED games and playing pieces, taking a moment to steady himself as his battered head spun from the sudden change in balance.

Slowly, enormous bat wings began to sprout from the other's back, growing and growing until they unfurled in a gust of wind that sent Duo sprawling back onto his hinny, one cheek landing painfully on a rather pointy game piece. He was sure that would turn into a rather amusing bruise within the next hour.

Bruise tucked away for perusal at a later moment, Duo watched as the bat wings stretched one at a time from the crumpled form as if they had not been used in some time. And after a few moments of streatching, the figure stood, suspiciously minus the floor-length trench coat.

"Shin?" Duo asked again, digging out the game piece from where it had nearly embedded itself in his posterior. "You ok?" He watched the other stand stiffly to their feet. "Bat wings? Isn't that a bit cliché-ish?" He tossed said game piece to the god.

"The term is 'cliché-IC'. And I happen to like the bat wings."

The figure turned over their shoulder, wide-set green eyes peered out of a dark face, black hair brushing his cheeks. It was not Shinigami.

Without bothering to ask the obvious questions like 'who the hell are you' and 'how did you get in to my mind', Duo's mental barriers flew up; the old, skinny naked man and his donkey appeared between him and the intruder.

Just as soon as he appeared, the old skinny man disappeared in a puff of black smoke, his donkey followed suit a moment later, imploding first into a rabbit, then a mouse before being snuffed out of existence.

"Not bad. My reports said there was only one psychic among the Gundam pilots, and he was the Winner kid. Apparently OZ intelligence isn't as accurate as they like to believe."

"OZ," Duo almost cursed. He could feel the other probing through his mind, pushing at the barriers. If he gave in, all the information he knew would be vulnerable; information on their training, their safe houses, their Gundams. It was much easier to beat a mind into submission from the inside, but that was only if you were strong enough to know what you were doing. "Who are you?" he asked the obvious question, wanting to know whose ass he'd have to kick later once he wormed his way out of this one.

The other shrugged. "You're not my problem," and he disappeared in a rat of black wind.

Duo ran to the spot where the intruder last stood, cursing violently as he circled about. "OZ had psychics working for them?" he snarled. "That blast on the last mission probably wasn't meant for me, then. Probably Quatre."

He stopped, eyes going wide. "Shit. And Shin and I sabotaged Quatre's room. That will give whoever that bastard was perfect reason to be alone with Quatre." He cursed again and tried to open his mind without bringing down the mental barriers. "Shin? You there? Hello?"

A faint glimmer answered him, too far away and too weak to latch on to.

--------------------------------

Wu Fei was first through the front door, ready to rub in the cool devices he had hawked off of OZ, only to find Duo sitting nauseatingly comfortable on the couch, soda in one hand, TV remote in the other. The Chinese pilot snarled. The bastard was ENJOYING having no work to do!

"Yo!" the braided idiot tossed off a mock salute from the couch. "Bring me home anything good to play with?"

"How about my foot in your ass, Maxwell?" Wu Fei snarled.

"Ooh, sounds like fun. My room or yours?"

The Shen Long pilot was nearing a vein-throbbing tantrum when he stopped suddenly and grew an incredulous look. "What did you do to my room, Maxwell!?" and he promptly retreated to the back rooms.

"Nothing, jeesh. Paranoid, much?" He rolled his eyes.

Trowa and Heero entered next, Heero eyeing the living room suspiciously as if his next step would trip a trap that would end up with a pie in his face. It wouldn't have been the first time, and he wouldn't put it past Duo to booby trap the entire safe house out of lack of anything better to do. Just to be safe, he asked the standard question: "What did you do?"

"NOTHING!" the figure on the couch said incredulously, sitting up from where he lounged, tossing the remote to the table. "Hey, you jerks are the ones who insisted on leaving me here to 'hold down the fort'," he quoted with his fingers. "There's only so much daytime television a guy can stand, you know."

"What did you do?" Trowa and Heero echoed.

Quatre brought up the rear, stepping passed the other pilots and tossing his flight goggles to a table beside the door. The braided pilot was furiously trying to defend himself.

"Something's not right here," Trowa said suspiciously eyeing Duo.

Quatre stretched an arm over his head. "When you figure it out, come get me. I'm going to bed."

The menace on the couch watched innocently as Quatre began down the back halls to his room.

"Tell us what you've done, Duo," Trowa was probing insistently, refusing to move past the doorway.

"Nothing!" he protested again. "Really!" He smiled a wide, toothy smile that did nothing to help the 'innocent' image he was attempting to portray. "Three… two… one…"

A blood curdling scream echoed from the back rooms. From the sound, it was Quatre.

"Oh," he said, raising a finger. "I MIGHT have filled Quatre's bed with cockroaches and millipedes."

Within seconds, a very flustered blonde pilot stormed back into the room, face nearly the color of his pink cardigan. "Duo Maxwell!" he shouted, causing even Heero to jump. "You WILL get back there and remove EVERY LAST BUG from my bed and room. NOW!"

Trowa gulped and took a step back, only vaguely noting Heero chose that moment to go check on their stolen Jeep to make sure it was still where he had parked it no more than two minutes ago.

With a snigger, the braided menace on the couch pushed to his feet and stretched. "Fine, fine. Boy, no one here has a sense of humor."

Wu Fei was pressed up against the wall when Quatre stomped back through the hall leading Duo by the arm. He gulped as the blonde passed, giving a sympathetic look to Duo. The other offered up an ornery smile as he disappeared into the bedroom after Quatre.

"Quatre's scary when he's pissed off," Wu Fei whispered to himself.

An insistent hiss brought Wu Fei's attention to the front door, Trowa furiously waving him down as if his life depended on it. Soon Heero appeared over the other pilot's shoulder and beckoned him with a simple nod.

A bit confused, the Chinese pilot made his way back into the living room to the front door. As soon as he was within arms reach, both Trowa and Heero hauled him outside by great handfuls of his clothing and flung the door closed behind them.

"For the love of… what is with you two!?" Wu Fei protested, ripping his arms free and adjusting his white tank top and billowing pants that had now been stretched beyond help.

Heero and Trowa exchanged a glance before Trowa said simply. "He lied."

Wu Fei startled back a step. "What? What did I lie about!?"

"Not you, Chang," Heero grumbled under his breath, looking over Trowa's shoulder to ensure no movement could be seen through the living room window. "Duo."

"Duo lied?"

Trowa explained. "He outright said he did 'nothing' to the safe house when asked. When we usually ask Duo what ridiculous prank he's pulled this time, he evades the answer by saying something like 'Don't you trust me', or 'Would I do anything like that'. This time, he flat out said 'nothing'. And Quatre ended up with a bed full of insects."

"Duo doesn't lie," Heero summed up, hand ghosting to the gun he had cleverly stashed in his spandex pants. "You armed?"

"Of course."

"Good. Here's the plan."

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To be continued …


	4. Invasion of the Bodysnatchers

Playing Stupid

Chapter Four

Invasion of the Bodysnatchers

The scene that greeted him made Quatre bristle. His entire bed heaved and rolled with a mass of invertebrates he'd much rather see squashed under his expensive shoes than riling in his bed. When he turned to the taller pilot, hands on hips, the other just shrugged.

"What?"

"You get to clean it up, Duo."

The other looked incredulously. "I have no idea how eight pounds of cockroaches found their way into your bed."

Quatre eyed him suspiciously, eyes narrowing to aquamarine slits. That was the second time... "Oh really? What's that phrase you always say? 'I run, I hide, but I never lie'?" The other just gave him a vacant look. "You're not Duo, are you?"

The smile that split his comrade's face could have melted the polar ice caps, a hand reaching out to set firmly on the young Arabian's shoulder. "Our little secret, Kat?"

Foolishly, Quatre opened his mind as a habit when he was caught off guard. A milky white expanse opened up to him effortlessly and a figure he guessed was the real Duo Maxwell looked up, startled violet eyes over a mouth flopping for words. "Quatre!" He shuffled to his feet, panicked. "Get out of …"

The milky white expanse grayed suddenly and a figure Quatre guessed must have been the fake Duo appeared beside the real one, a head taller, brilliant green eyes and touting bat wings that nearly swept the floor.

Quatre gasped and tried to pull out of Duo's mind, turning only to nearly plow into a wall of stone that suddenly sprouted, spanning both to the left and to the right as far as he could see.

"Don't hurt him," he heard Duo whisper. "Please."

"He'll be fine," the other answered. "I wouldn't dream of hurting this one. He's my target after all."

Quatre spun and backed himself against the wall seconds before the bat-winged figure closed in on him, pinning him to the wall and giving him a lecherous look. "Our little secret?" the other repeated, running a finger along the Arabian's cheek. A wicked smile cracked his face when Quatre paled and nodded eagerly, the small blonde beginning to shake. "Good boy."

A flying tackle brought Duo streaking across his vision as the other figure was hit with a well aimed Clothes Line, Duo yanking Quatre from the wall and all but throwing him behind. "It's an OZ psychic, Quatre!"

The other purred something neither couldn't understand, the bat wings unfurling and whipping once, sending a stiff gale their way. "I won't have either of your blow my cover."

Duo felt Quatre tense behind him and figured the blonde was readying a mental assault. Unfortunately, the OZ psychic guessed the same thing.

Sensing the coming retaliation, the figure chuckled darkly and waggled a finger at both pilots. "Try it and I'll get very, very displeased with the both of you."

Considering he had Quatre to defend as well, Duo resigned himself to idle threats. Against a psychic in his own mind, he would hardly be a threat, but he wasn't about to keel over and play dead. "Screw this! Even if I have to spend the next month in the hospital, give me back my body. This is where I draw the line!"

The bat winged figure threw his head back and laughed uproariously, his voice booming so loud that Duo cringed and hunkered down. "You!? Think you can order around ME!? NO ONE orders me! I am a GOD!"

Duo's blood began to run cold, but he held his ground. "No you're not. And once I figure out what you've done with the real Shinigami, I'll sit back enjoying a bag of popcorn while said god kicks your sorry ass. This is my body," he said slowly. "My mind."

"Not anymore."

The other readied an attack from what Duo could guess. He fell back on the image of the old, skinny naked man and built up his defenses. And he was just about to launch the wrinkly old fart at the thread when a head of platinum blonde hair appeared before him, aquamarine eyes set in an emotion he had not seen from the smaller pilot.

"Duo! Go!"

A sharp shove impacted his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. Duo sailed effortlessly through the environment, punching a hole through the rock wall, rocketing backwards, the figures of Quatre and the OZ mindfreak quickly shrinking. He tried to reach out, tried to grab onto anything that would stop his flight. "Quatre!!" he screamed.

The milky white environment flashed to black and Duo crashed into something hard with a dull thump. Rolling a few times, he clamored into a wall, head rebounding in a nasty crunch. Snow blind eyes struggled for light and focus as he immediately grabbed his battered skull, fighting a case of the little yellow birdies he was certain were circling his head.

His eyes found movement across the room. A plain bed was riling with what had to be half the world's population of creepy crawlies of all makes and models. Not too keen on bugs, Duo scrambled to his feet and made two horrific realizations.

One, he was dressed in pastels and cashmere, not of his own free will.

And two, his body appeared to be attempting to pull its own head off across the room from him.

The bedroom door was kicked open, the dusty oak door nearly hitting him as it made way for three heavily armed Gundam pilots.

Heero was first into the room, diving for the frantic figure of Duo Maxwell, Trowa and Wu Fei in close pursuit, one brandishing a kitchen skillet, the other, a heavy amount of bailing twine from the abandoned livestock stalls out back.

In a carefully orchestrated coup, the body was hauled to the floor by Heero, clunked upside the head by Wu Fei's frying pan, and furiously bound hand to foot by Trowa.

Duo took a shaky step back, watching slack jawed as all three pilots began to make a human mummy of the body with the rope. "What the hell is going on here?"

Trowa was first to his feet, sailing across the room to take Duo by the shoulders, shaking him gently. From his vantage point, Duo noted that Trowa was suddenly a foot taller than him; the two were nearly equal height last time he checked. The acrobat hadn't taken to wearing women's stiletto's had he?

"Quatre!" Trowa began, almost frantically. "Are you ok? Did he hurt you?"

"Quatre!" Duo exclaimed, managing to nearly throw Trowa out of the way as he leapt across the room. Wu Fei was pulled back by his pony tail amid many curses and rhetoric in Chinese before Duo sank to his knees beside his body. "Quatre!" he yelled, reaching out to shake the bound and unconscious body.

The distinct click of a gun safety echoed into the room, Duo turning slowly to see Heero level his gun at his forehead. Two more clicks resounded and Wu Fei and Trowa soon followed suit.

Reality caught up to Duo and he began to pat himself down. Pink cashmere cardigan, green pants, shoes worth more than his entire wardrobe. Hands flew to his head and his eyes went wide when he came back without a braid. "Oh no. He didn't."

"Who are you?" Heero began, cocking the gun.

Duo lowered his hands slowly, wide eyes volleying between his friends. "Guys. We've got big trouble." When he didn't receive a reply he swallowed hard. "It's me. Duo."

Trowa hissed and his gun was soon pressed into the other's temple. "Where's Quatre?"

Duo looked slowly to his bound body on the floor. "In there…"

… to be continued

Ooh, a twist I bet you didn't exactly expect, eh?

Please R&R!


	5. They’re coming to take me away, Ha Ha!

Playing Stupid

Chapter Five

They're coming to take me away, Ha Ha!

-----------------------------

A very flustered blonde sat on the living room couch, fending off a marathon session of Twenty Questions which seemed to be coming from both Heero and Trowa at the same time. And it didn't help that Wu Fei's only contribution to the conversation was the occasional "you're and idiot, Maxwell", or "be serious, you dolt."

"Stop!" the blonde whined in a tone distinctly reminiscent of Duo. "I think my brain just sprang a sanity leak."

"Too bad," Heero grumbled, almost emotional. "You'll answer our questions until we're certain you are who you say you are and we're sure Quatre's safe."

Duo-in-Quatre's-body slumped forward and let out a long, dramatic groan. "But I'm hungry!!!"

"Suck it up, Mawell," Wu Fei grumbled.

"See!" Duo pointed obsessively at the Chinese pilot. "Wuffie believes I'm me! Or… I mean…" The blonde deflated and seemed to sink into the couch.

"You still have to convince the rest of us. Now, answer the question: what is your mission prerogative?"

"Do I get extra points if I answer in the form of a question?"

"Maxwell!"

"What?! My mission prerogative is gonna be to kick all your sorry asses when I get out of this mess! You think the superglue on the toilet seats at the last safe house was a bitch, you just wait!" The blonde shook a fist at them collectively as his face began to turn red. He began to tap his head furiously. "I've got pranks stored in the back of my noggin that would make the fire ant fiasco look like a whoopee cushion!"

Wu Fei and Trowa absently scratched at imaginary stings.

Heero, however, was unfazed. "Answer the question!"

Duo pulled at his platinum locks. "Guys, if you don't get your heads out of your asses, I'm gonna start singing!"

Heero stomped across the living room and leaned in nearly nose to nose with the blonde Arabian, the gun shoved into is temple. "What is your mission!" he yelled, emphasizing each word.

Duo plunged his fingers into his ears and began singing at the top of his lungs. "Do your balls hang low? Do they wobble to and fro?"

Wu Fei wailed and clenched his fists. "Maxwell!!"

The singing continued. "Can you tie them in a knot? Can you tie them in a bow?"

A slipper flew and Duo dodged expertly, switching songs. "Don't need to spring for dinner, Or wear all that sexy stuff. All you need's a set of fingers and a wanker or a muff. 'Cause everybody's doin' it, all across the land. Masturbators Of America, Give Yourselves A Hand!"

Heero grunted in dissatisfaction and pulled back a bit miffed. He wasn't sure if it was the oddity of seeing Quatre sing dirty songs at the top of his lungs – and quite off key at that – or the fact that whoever was in Quatre's mind was beginning to play a convincing Duo Maxwell.

Trowa was pinching the bridge of his nose as Duo continued his dirty crooning. Around the living room, Heero seemed only barely annoyed and Wu Fei was on the verge of committing Duo-icide. If the personality inhabiting Quatre wasn't Duo Maxwell…

"Say we believe you," Trowa cut in on the next song which apparently had something to do with a sex change operation gone bad. For a moment, the serenading annoyance fell silent and Trowa breathed a sigh of relief. "Say we believe you," he repeated. "How do we get you back into your body?"

The blonde shrugged. "Search me. Only trick Quatre ever taught me was 'old-naked-guy-and-a-donkey'. Got no idea how to switch bodies at will."

Trowa paused to take in the 'old naked man' bit and couldn't help but shutter; if that wasn't Duo Maxwell, he'd shave his head.

-----------------------------

In a random interrogation room, the oz psychic still sat bound in a chair, mainly to keep him sitting upright as he appeared to be in a trance. His head bobbed rhythmically under sparse muscle control, the man occasionally muttering in his stupor.

"… impact tolerance… 154 point seven Newton's to the upper pectoral armor plate…" he mumbled, his head bobbling forward before it was snapped back.

To one side, a soldier with a hefty notebook was busy scribbling down the ramblings. He had plowed through about a quarter of the notebook's pages already, writing furiously before flipping the page in a shrill crinkle of paper.

The other officer in the room, dressed in a neat blue and white French-style colonial suit seemed to be chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Location. We need a location!" Treize Khushrenada shifted uneasily in place a moment before beginning to pace the floor.

The black-haired man in the chair bobbed his head a few more times before he mumbled again. "Thirty-three degrees, forty-eight minutes north…" his head bobbed again as he mumbled something incoherent. "One-hundred-thirty degrees, forty-four minutes east…"

"That's in one of the northern provinces of Kyuushu," the soldier taking notes added, quickly jotting down the coordinates.

Treize turned to another soldier in the room. "Send a battalion! I want all available Leo's en route in five minutes." When the soldier did not immediately take off, he barked an irate "Now!" and sent the soldier scurrying.

----------------------

"What are we going to do?" Trowa paced the floor steadily, glaring at the blonde boy on the couch and the bound, braided and unconscious pilot on the floor.

"A better question is who is this OZ psychic and what information does he know about us?" Heero still had his gun in his hand, still entertaining the possibility of emptying the entire clip into the head of Quatre Rabarba Winner.

"That's two questions," Duo in Quatre's body answered, scrubbing a hand through short platinum blonde hair. He had apparently been repeating that same action for quite some time now as Quatre's normally well groomed coif sprouted at odd angles from his head.

"Answer the question, Quatre," Heero growled, handling his gun suspiciously.

"Duo," the blonde corrected.

"Maxwell!" Wu Fei stormed across the living room which had been turned into a make-shift interrogation room and took Duo by the shoulders, shaking him back and forth violently to improve the reception. "Does OZ know our position!?"

Duo let the Chinese pilot shake Quatre's body a couple times before he was inevitably saved by a firm hand from Trowa. "From what I can piece together;" he took a deep breath, "This guy's name is Tion Something-or-other, probably as much as I know, and yes… does that help?"

All three pilots were silent a moment.

Wu Fei was the first to react, cursing quite colorfully in Chinese before retreating to the back rooms. Various sounds of thumping and clanging could be heard before he returned, his sword strapped to his waist and hauling several duffle bags. "If OZ knows our location, we have to move." He stomped across the living room and out the front door.

"Agreed." Heero made it to his feet, glaring death upon both the bound body of Duo and the possessed form of Quatre. "You're not coming with us."

"I know," Duo answered quietly, hanging his head.

Trowa mumbled something but remained silent.

"If there's any chance of Kat and me getting switched back, it's in OZ custody. And OZ isn't stupid enough to harm anyone on Queen Relena's council."

"What about Duo?" Trowa began. "If OZ does away with Duo's body with Quatre's mind still in there, what happens?"

Duo scrubbed a hand through his hair again, not helping his current coif. "As far as I can figure out, as long as we're in the vicinity of our bodies, our minds go back to where they belong if one body dies."

"Then, if Duo's body dies and Quatre's mind returns to his body…"

The question was cut off as Wu Fei stormed back into the house, nearly throwing the front door off it's hinges. "Mobile Suits in the distance! At least a full battalion. Maybe more!"

"Thirty-five suits," Trowa growled. "They must want us bad to send that many after us."

"I have Shen Long in pre-flight," Wu Fei was saying as he grabbed duffle bags the pilots usually had pre packed incase they had to pack up and leave on a moment's notice. "Get your asses in gear!"

Duo looked about madly before a gun was shoved in his face, aquamarine eyes looking up to see Heero scoffing down at him. "Take this," he said, emotionless. "No plans, no pep talks. OZ will only find out through whatever moron they've got shoved in your body."

Duo nodded and gladly took the weapon. "I'll do what I do best," he gave an evil grin.

"Be an ornery little shit?"

Despite the fact it was Quatre's face that contorted into that evil little grin, Duo could be seen in full glory. The pilot bared all his teeth and tossed off a mock salute, rising to run off into the kitchen. A clang of pots and pans was heard before he returned toting an armload of kitchen utensils and baking equipment. "Quatre won't miss these."

With a forced chuckle, Trowa loaded his arms with duffle bags and random items and hurried out the front door after Heero.

With his friends preparing their hasty retreat, Duo stopped and looked around a moment, sighing heavily. He had accepted his fate and didn't blame his friends one least bit for leaving him and Quatre behind. They were a security risk. And if this Tion Gilander guy could possibly take full control over one of their bodies, being behind the controls of a Gundam at such an opportunity would prove lethal.

With one last glance to his body lying bound on the floor, Duo prepared his ambush.

--------------------

To be continued


	6. The Squeeze e Cheeze Ambush

Playing Stupid

Chapter Six

The Squeeze-e-Cheeze Ambush

------------------------

"Avoid combat," Heero was saying, furiously flipping switches and punching in commands as Wing Zero made it through pre-flight, verniers kicking up a tornado of grass and leaves under the eight ton monstrosity.

"Agreed," Wu Fei answered over a side communications port.

To Heero's left, Heavy Arms lifted into the air in a blast of displaced grass and leaves, pelting the other two suits in a generous concoction of whatever was on the forest floor. A rather miffed sound from Wu Fei brought Shen Long into flight, soon followed by Wing Zero. Together, the three suits revved verniers and disappeared into the dusk sky just as a line of lights signaled the arrival of the enemy.

The lead most Leo suit lead a small pack of Mobile Dolls, autonomous suits programmed for combat without the need of a human pilot.

"Do we have orders to take the Gundam pilots dead or alive?" the lead Leo suit called back.

"Preferably alive," a random suit answered, the communications breaking into static for a moment. "But I'm sure an 'accident' or two can be explained away."

-----------------------------

Duo Maxwell tried his best to put order back to the pastel cardigan, green vest and pressed fitted pants Quatre's body was still wearing. He'd never worn anything so hideous in his life, but if he was to pull off a convincing Quatre Rabarba Winner, then he'd have to look the part.

Beside him as he settled into the couch, his body – Duo Maxwell's body – had been hefted onto the couch, still bound hand and foot, but poised so as he looked to be holding some random weapon. No one needed to know that said weapon was really a toilet plunger duct-taped to a fire extinguisher.

And no one would be able to notice the elaborate contraption of pots, pans and whatever was left in the cupboards hanging precariously over the front door; the distraction from the fire extinguisher would be enough to lure all in attendance into his recent clever prank.

Given the situation, Duo was actually a bit anxious. He'd been in OZ custody before, but had always been in his own body. And he'd never been allowed to basically throw an entire kitchen full of annoyances at anyone. He wasn't sure if he was getting excited for the prank or getting butterflies over the impending imprisonment.

Movement outside the curtain-less front window caused Duo to stiffen, his fingers curling tightly around a length of rope that, when pulled, would release the ambush. His heart beat loudly in his ears and he swore he was almost going deaf.

"You in the farmhouse; SURRENDER!" someone outside yelled. The front window shattered and a smoke bomb or seven was tossed in, just as expected. Duo donned a gas mask he had hidden in the endless, remote-swallowing depths of the dusty couch and waited patiently.

His skin crawled, letting him know that the smoke bomb was most likely a pepper bomb, intended to subdue him by making his nose, eyes, throat and lungs burn like the dickens, not to mention it tended to turn your skin bright red. Thank goodness for Quatre's thick, cashmere sweater and expensive wool pants, or he'd be howling.

Another smoke bomb and the front door was soon being hammered by some unseen force outside.

Duo managed a grin beneath the gas mask.

In a flurry of splintered wood, the front door blew open in time to make way for a handful of troops as they stormed in, guns trained on the masked figure on the couch.

And at just that moment, with the loss of the living room door, Duo's prank swung into motion.

The first few solders that came to a stop in the house had only a few seconds before a dozen or so frying pans, skillets and a cast iron grill pan rained concussion-causing mayhem from a cargo net tacked very loosely into the ceiling. The poor soul hit with the cast iron pan fell to the floor with quite a dent in his helmet, the remainder of the unfortunate few cursing from bumps and bruises, their helmets now pock-marked as if they had be caught in a freak hail storm.

Duo tried not to chuckle from behind his mask.

A random soldier picked himself off the floor and glared death to Duo, who promptly pointed to his bound and gagged body. "He did it." It wasn't a total lie: he was Duo Maxwell just as much as the other one was Duo Maxwell… or as much as… Duo confused himself, trying to figure out the logic behind it all.

The soldier turned his frown to the bound body and began forward. He was scarcely two steps into the house before his boot drug through a trip wire, releasing an amazing shower of whipped cream, cheese in a can and any other aerosol food products the American lunatic could dig up from the kitchen.

But the attack didn't stop there. As a few soldiers were slipping about through the messy goop, they sprung the next spring of traps, buckets of flour, Shake n Bake, Rice Crispies and coco powder raining onto the thoroughly gooped troops.

Duo couldn't help but chuckle as one officer tumbled onto his rear, a can of Squeeze-e-Cheeze exploding under his impact.

"Enough!"

From behind the leveled troops, a commander stumbled in, ducking a stray pot that sailed through the air. He noticed the toilet-plunger-and-fire-extinguisher weapon, leveling his gun a moment before he tripped on a fallen soldier, tripping the only trap that had not been sprung. The fire extinguisher held by Duo's bound body let off in a mad gush of pressure that coated the couch in a white foam and sent the toilet plunger rocketing across the room.

Said commander took the dirty plumbing device in the helmet, the toilet plunger suctioning in place before wobbling back and forth a few times, stuck to the commander's helmet.

Duo roared with laughter.

The room was silent, save for the hysterics of the blonde Gundam pilot in the room still wearing the gas mask. The commanding officer of the battalion stood, obviously miffed, his once pristine uniform dotted in stray whip cream. And, of course, the toilet plunger still sat wobbling where it was stuck firmly to the front of his helmet.

He was not impressed, a gentle dusting of flour raining down from his shoulders as he leveled a tazer and fired.

The last thought Duo had as his body convulsed and toppled to the floor was that Quatre was gonna have two new nipples once this mess was all over.

-------------------

"We're not just going to leave them, are we?" Surprisingly, Wu Fei was the one voicing concerns, the three Gundams having touched down in a remote area of the forests to wait.

"Of course not," Heero almost snapped. "We're out numbered, out gunned and at several other disadvantages."

"Never stopped us before," Trowa commented. "What's your plan?"

"Duo's no idiot." As simple as the phrase sounded, if there was one thing that Duo Maxwell was, it was resourceful. "He'll find a way out of OZ custody and we need to be there to pick them up when they make a break for it."

"Agreed." Heavy Arms powered down and settled into a stable crouch. "OZ won't risk starting another war by endangering any member of the Winner family, especially Quatre."

"So we wait. Track the battalion back to their base, wait for some sort of signal from Duo, and then we move in."

There was a chuckle from Trowa over the communications. "Any bets as to what the 'signal' is going to be?"

----------

To Be Continued


	7. Finishing the Job

Playing Stupid

Chapter 7

Finishing the Job

-------------------

Despite the title… this is not the end. It's just the BEGINNING of the chaos!! BWAHAHAH!

-------------------

Quatre bit his bottom lip nervously as he watched from within Duo's mind. The intruder was a speck in the distance of the milk-white expanse of his friend's psyche, occasionally moving this way and that, obviously in a rather heated argument with someone Quatre could not see.

He wondered briefly if Duo had made it into his body – into Quatre's body – ok. He could only hope for the best. If he tried hard enough and took the necessary precautions, he could bridge the gap between Duo's mind and body without being noticed. He could find out where he was and who the intruder was talking to and possibly begin figuring out a way to get out of this mess.

Carefully, he began to concentrate, reaching out for that part of the psyche where one's body would reside. And Quatre was more than just a little relieved when he found the mind-body bridge exactly where it should have been.

With a steadying breath, he tapped in.

They were swaying. Rhythmically, but roughly, as if the body had been flung over someone's shoulder. Hands were bound, feet were bound. And through it all, a voice he did not recognize was answering back a series of unheard questions.

"Then I will confirm my identity once you take me to the General. Now, is there some reason why I can't walk there myself?"

A brief pause.

"Treize gave you specific instructions to treat me with the utmost care once I gave you the codeword."

Another pause.

"Can't trust me? Then what the hell was all this for then, anyway?"

Quatre shook his head and released the link; he couldn't see where they were, couldn't hear beyond the milky expanse…

A sudden gyration let Quatre know that Duo's body had been all but dropped on a very hard surface, most likely the floor of some interrogation room. Even with the link down, he heard the voice protest loudly.

"Duo," he whispered. "Please be alright."

-------------------

Duo Maxwell was trying his hardest to pretend to be Quatre Rabarba Winner. A handful of OZ soldiers had more or less drug his body along with Quatre's into a random interrogation room in whichever base they had come to. Duo would have gladly made a mental map of where they were in the base in relation to the front door, but the tazer sting he had received had left him unconscious until just up to a minute ago.

He groaned and hefted his head slightly only to see someone's rear in his line of site. He was most likely flung over someone's shoulder.

Of all the things Duo Maxwell could do to make his ornery presence known, not a one of them fit into Quatre's persona. And since he was forcefully undercover, he opted for sheer obviousness. "Where am I?" he asked in a level tone.

The soldier beneath him shifted and gave a grunt. "So, you're awake."

"I asked where I am. It's an international offense to hold a member of Queen Relena's advisory panel hostage." Ok, so far so good. This playing Quatre thing wasn't too hard.

"Who said you were a hostage?"

Duo didn't have time to answer as he was unceremoniously dumped on the ground, his butt rebounding off a concrete floor in a sting that was sure to leave him a bruise… or… leave Quatre a bruise.

Continuing his façade, Duo was just about to point out that he was bound and in OZ custody when the cords binding his feet and wrists were suddenly cut loose.

A light frown split his brow, but he stood to his feet, adjusting the horrible pink and cashmere train wreck of Quatre's fashion sense before pinning the soldier before him with a stern eye.

Beside him, the body of Duo Maxwell was tossed to the floor beside a man tied to a chair. Quick eyes surveyed the room before coming to rest on his body, watching a bit miffed as it rubbed its offended posterior before settling to the floor.

In a surprisingly level tone, he asked another obvious question. "What is the meaning of this?" Boy, if that wasn't a perfect impression of Quatre, he didn't know what was. He debated with putting his hands on his hips and tapping a foot impatiently, but Quatre only did that when he was scolding him – er, Duo – on the latest prank he had pulled.

The interrogation room door opened to admit a tall brunette soldier in full French attire, an antique sword hung neatly about his waist.

"Treize Khushrenada." Duo tried very hard not to curse out the name.

"Quatre Rabarba Winner," Treize answered with a smile. "How nice of you to join us in our little meeting."

"Meeting?"

"Of course!" Treize made a long sweeping gesture about the room. "But first, I must confirm all in attendance. You are Quatre Winner, correct?"

Duo managed a frown. "What is this about?"

"Because we seem to be missing a personality. Some where in the confusion, we seem to have lost Duo Maxwell."

Duo raised a finger and pointed sternly to the body of the braided American who sat just yards from him, leaning casually against the wall. "Is that not Duo Maxwell?"

The body of Duo raised a hand in a gesture to call attention to himself. "I'm Tion. And as far as I can determine, the real Quatre Winner is in here," he tapped his head. "Leaving you to be Duo Maxwell," he pinned the blonde with a finger.

"Ridiculous."

"Shall I prove it?"

Treize shifted in place. "I would like this mess straightened out as quickly as possible. We have a diplomat to return to his country," he gave Quatre a wide, sweeping bow.

The braided American's body smiled fiendishly and offered out a hand. "Gun please."

"Do you honestly think we're stupid enough to…" a random soldier began.

"Give him a gun," Treize ordered quietly.

After a few uncomfortable moments, a lieutenant handed over his gun to the Gundam pilot, circling a glance back to Quatre as if threatening his life if something went wrong.

Duo's body took the gun in one hand, held out the other arm and jammed the butt of the gun in the crook of his arm where his forearm joined at the elbow. "How's this for proof?"

Duo gasped seconds before realization dawned. "Wait!! What are you…?"

A deafening boom shook the interrogation room, Duo throwing his arms before his face as the inevitable carnage from his body being shot in the elbow ricocheted his way. A sliver of bone grazed his cheek and he could feel himself pelted in a healthy mixture of mutilated muscle and blood.

A shrill gasp ignited from both the lieutenant and Treize, Duo in Quatre's body daring a peak , immediately wishing he had not.

------

Quatre rolled violently as reality within Duo's mind very nearly turned upside-down. The distinct sound of a gun shot ricocheted through the mind hundreds of times, thousands of times before it eventually died down, echoing off into an unseen distance before all fell silent again.

"What just happened?"

In a burst of black smoke that seemed to grow out of nothingness, a body materialized at his feet, riling and howling, clutching at what Quatre could only guess had once been the figure's left arm.

"Duo!" Quatre sank to his knees, reaching out to the body to bundle him into his lap. "Duo! What happened!"

Strained, black eyes opened to Quatre and let out a long curse before he calmed down, gritting teeth a moment before he was able to bundle what was left of his left arm into his lap. "Duo," he breathed, steadying himself. "Where's Duo?"

Quatre shook his head forcefully. "Shinigami?" He pressed his eyes closed to keep from sicking up. "Duo's in my body."

"We're better off than I thought, then."

"What do you mean?"

----------------

Tion in control of Duo's body stood with the gun cocked to his free arm, the arm hanging at an unnatural angle from his body. Blood spattered the walls behind him and dripped rhythmically from the annihilated body part, the body's lower arm hanging on to the upper by a few tendons and some intact muscle.

Letting go of his training, Duo howled from Quatre's body, pulling at the platinum locks and dropping to his knees.

Despite looking decidedly pale, Treize chuckled and motioned the other soldier in the room. "Take… Duo Maxwell… into custody," he pointed to the platinum blonde.

Ignoring the fact that taking any of the Winner family into military custody violated the Peacecraft dictates and would certainly start another war, the stray soldier walked calmly to the blonde crumpled on the floor and hauled him to his feet.

Duo tried another howl but his voice broke. He had been trained to take almost anything, but training had never prepared him to sit back and watch someone mutilate his own body. He was in shock, aquamarine eyes wide and tearing.

Tion in Duo's body turned a smirk on the other, twirling the gun around the finger of his good arm.

"Finish the job," Treize said, pointing to Tion's body. "What happens if you kill Maxwell?"

Tion shrugged. "My body's just right there. As long as no one's stupid enough to move me… uh, it… while I'm killing Maxwell, I'll just default back to my own body."

"Do it."

Duo struggled weakly against his captor as he watched his body raise the gun and jam it into his eye.

----------------------

To be continued…


	8. The Shinigami Shuffle

Playing Stupid

Chapter 8

The Shinigami Shuffle

-------------

Quatre was beside himself, unsure of what to do. The god was still in an obvious amount of pain as he rolled onto his knees on the floor of the milky white expanse, clutching his left arm.

Shinigami ground his teeth together and abandoned his feet, choosing to roll to a side, fighting a few moments to catch his breath. "Fuck..." he managed, still riling on the floor. "That hurt."

"What!? WHAT!?" Quatre bent over and shook the other by his shoulders. "What happened!?"

Shinigami audibly ground his teeth together but settled, rolling black, watery eyes up to Quatre. "That bastard shot Duo; Nearly took off his entire lower arm." He paused to take a few unsteady breaths.

"Can… can OZ kill you?" Quatre asked weakly.

"Not me. Duo. And with Duo in your body, that leaves me to take the brunt of whatever he's going through."

"More importantly, what happens to us if Duo's body dies?"

Shinigami blew air through his teeth and grumbled to himself. "I just find another host. You; You'll probably be either a wandering spirit for the rest of eternity since you're the odd man out in this mind, or… you'll just disappear."

Quatre paled until he nearly blended into the background.

"Not to worry, tho." Shinigami said with a grin, managing to sit himself up with one useless arm. "If I know what's coming, I can prevent any permanent damage. This might actually be kinda fun." The god gingerly touched his arm again before a hand shot to his eye and he grunted. "Here it comes."

"Here what comes?"

"He's killing Duo."

Instinctly, Quatre opened up his link to Duo's mind, his eyes seeing what Duo saw seconds before the gun shot rang out.

--------------------------

Duo took in a staggering breath and yelled just as the gunshot went off in what was sure to be an immediately lethal blow. Blood, skull and brain matter rained about the room and Duo's body was blown back into the wall. It stayed there for a moment before slumping to the floor to sit in an unnatural position, a blood streak extending up the wall to the splatter that marked where his annihilated head had landed.

Treize pulled out a white silk handkerchief and calmly went about dabbing at blood and tissues on the stark white areas of his uniform, noting somewhat comically that he would have to have his tailors fashion him an entire new suit. He'd keep this one as a souvenir, though: The first officer in the entire Organization to successfully kill a Gundam pilot.

Tion Gilander stirred where he had been strapped into a chair, raising his head and blinking sleepy green eyes a moment, straining to regain his vision. "Whoa. That was unreal."

Guns were automatically leveled at his head as both Treize and the lieutenant turned on him, the other blinking and offering a wide grin.

"Yo, it's me."

"Prove it."

The other opened his mouth to talk but paused, frowning. "Not sure how to do that, exactly."

"Prove you're not Duo Maxwell or Quatre Winner."

Tion motioned with his head to Quatre's body, hanging limply in the other soldier's custody, shivering violently, the occasional squeak escaping as he tried to yell in a raw throat. "That's one. Should still be Duo Maxwell."

"And the other? And Quatre Winner?"

"He was in Duo's body when I have him a breathing hole through his skull." He glanced over at the carnage that was now Duo Maxwell's body and visibly paled. "Christ! Did I do that!?" He chuckled a moment and choked back a gag. "Phew."

Treize turned and pocketed his silk handkerchief with an air of self-importance, turning towards the door. "Untie him. And get someone to clean up that mess," he flung a hand haphazardly over his shoulder. "Take Winner… Maxwell… whoever… to a holding cell.

The lieutenant sprung to do as told, the other soldier attempting to hoist the limp body of Quatre who was staring gravely at the crumpled, bloody heap in the corner. "Get up, you. Or I'll really make your legs useless."

The blonde's body stiffened suddenly.

Duo's face paled considerably and his aquamarine eyes widened to the point the soldier thought they would burst. He frowned a moment before a cacophony of loud cursing and cocking guns echoed into the room.

Spinning, dropping his burden and drawing his own gun, the soldier came upon a horrific discovery: The corpse of Duo Maxwell. Staring right at him from one good eye in what was left of his skull.

A shot rang out from Treize's gun, creating a perfectly symmetrical hole through the head of the pile of moving carnage. The body only shuttered from the impact, but continued moving, pulling its legs underneath itself. Slowly, it began to creep to its feet.

"For Christ's sake, fire!" Treize nearly shrieked.

Three simultaneous pistols unloaded into the walking corpse. Blood splattered everywhere, holes appeared in parts of the body previously untouched, but still the corpse moved. Once all the clips were spent, the body rose completely to his feet, craning his mutilated head from side to side, popping the bones in its neck.

The lieutenant screamed and ran from the room, only half finished with untying a very nauseous looking Tion Gilander, green eyes wide with shock. Treize was frozen where he stood, still pulling the trigger of the spent gun as if by some miracle of reality it would reload on its own.

The head of Duo Maxwell's corpse swiveled a bit shakily to the soldier who held guard over Quatre, the soldier's spent gun aimed shakily at him. As if in answer to the unspoken demand, he dropped his gun and promptly bolted from the room, leaving the shaking blonde in a pile on the floor, eyes wide as he could do nothing but watch the horrific spectacle.

"Still in there, Duo?" the corpse gurgled, it's only good eye rolling uncoordinated until it spied Quatre's body.

The other managed a weak nod.

Still firing the spent gun, Treize finally gave up his efforts and dropped the gun, going instead for his sword.

"H-his head!" Tion managed from where he still sat half tied, trying to undo the balance of his restraints. "Cut off his head!"

The corpse snarled and produced the gun it had originally used to shoot itself in the eye, extending over its shoulder without looking to promptly shoot the psychic in the middle of the forehead. A feral grin split the blood-soaked face and it huffed. "Honestly. Six-foot bat wings?" It looked over its shoulders as the psychic slumped forward, unmoving. "How unoriginal."

Immediately, the corpse's gun swung to nudge Treize in the forehead. "Care to see who's a faster draw?" it rasped through a throat that had been shredded in the rain of bullets.

The antique sword clamored to the floor and Treize took an unsteady step back before he turned on his heels and beat his hasty retreat.

With a gurgly chuckle, the corpse twirled the gun around its finger like he was in a bad western before shoving it somewhere in the waist of his pants.

It turned towards Quatre's body and the other stiffened visibly. "Relax!" the corpse laughed, the laugh turning into a choke as it spit up a mouthful of blood.

"Shi… Shinigami?" Duo spoke, nearly sick. The other managed a grin through a mutilated face.

Gathering its balance, the corpse shuffled across the room and crumbled to his knees before Quatre's body, the other shuffling backwards on his rear where he sat. Taking the pastel pink sweater in hand, Shinigami buried his head into it and began to wipe the blood from his face.

"Man, that hurt like hell!" Shinigami's mangled face said, muffled by the shirt. He drew back and took a stiff breath, his face mostly healed, bullet holes closing, his missing eye beginning to reform in the gaping hole in his head. "Good thing I saw that one coming!"

Duo regarded Quatre's blood-soaked sweater with a forced swallow before he threw himself at his body, wrapping long arms around the other's neck.

Shinigami chuckled and patted the blonde's back. "Aww, how cute, I have a fan club."

Duo pulled back and punched the other in the shoulder. "Ass wipe! You could have warned me!"

"Was that supposed to hurt?"

"Jesus, Shin! Next time you wanna go a little easier on the carnage!?" He flicked a piece of flesh from the other's shoulder.

Duo's body shrugged. "What? Like I had a choice to be shot in the eye and turned into human Swiss cheese." He cringed. "But I wouldn't want to repeat the experience."

Duo gave Quatre's blood-soaked shirt another glance. "Hey, by the way…"

"Blondie's still in here," the other said, tapping a finger to the side of his head, hair matted to his face from the massive blood loss he had just endured.

_I can switch us back_, Quatre's voice spoke a bit uneasily through Shinigami's mind. Having a front-row seat to a round of Duo Demolition was nothing he ever wanted to see again.

"The kid says he can switch you two back." Shinigami paused as if in thought, listening to the voice in his head. He nodded once and took Duo's hands in his. "Close your eyes."

Duo did as told but smirked. "If I end up with an atomic wedgie, there will be Hell to pay."

"Deal."

-------------------

Quatre stood up straight in the milky white environment, Shinigami standing beside him tapping a foot impatiently. Black eyes flickered about and the figure that resembled Duo in so many ways huffed, blowing a strand of his chestnut-colored bangs repeatedly from his face. "You done yet?"

The other made a hushing sound and seconds later the milky fog churned. It formed into a mass and the mass slowly took human shape, darkening until Duo Maxwell appeared, looking a bit worse for wear but wearing a wide grin. He tossed off a mock salute. "Permission to come aboard, sir!"

"Get over here, idiot," Shinigami reached out and hauled the other over in a headlock, presenting Duo to Quatre like a prized head of deer. "Will this work?"

Quatre sighed and relaxed visibly. "Perfectly."

"We still have to get out of here, right?" Shinigami asked, Duo struggling to free himself from the headlock. When Quatre nodded, the god promptly released his catch, sending Duo stumbling to a rather ungraceful pile at his feet. "Then it looks like I'm in charge until we get back to the safe house."

"Like hell! I want my body back!" Duo protested from the floor.

"Um, immortal, remember?" Shinigami pointed to himself. "Unless you think you can survive the inevitable hail of bullets that's sure to come. You think Treize and his band of Merry Men didn't immediately rally the troops the second they beat their hasty retreat?"

Duo pouted. Unfortunately, the god had a point.

"Good! Now, let's get the hell out of here."

-------------------------------

Quatre, thankfully back in his own body, was furiously trying to remove the blood-soaked pink cardigan without smearing the crimson mess all over his face and hair.

Shinigami, still in control of Duo's body, had retrieved Treize's empty fire arm, taking out the gun he had shoved in the waist of his pants, handing it off to Quatre. "You take the loaded one. I'll make do with this until we can borrow a few of OZ's."

"You're breaking us out with an empty gun?"

The god flashed a wide grin. "Armed with sheer orneriness, you bet I can!"

Quatre had managed to wriggle out of the cardigan, trying first to fold the cashmere article before giving up and tossing it in a sloppy pile on the floor of the interrogation room. He purposely kept eyes trained on the door, ignoring the slumped and unmoving form of Tion Gilander still mostly strapped into the chair at the opposite end of the room.

"You stay behind me," Shinigami was saying. "At all times. No heroics. Got it?"

Quatre nodded and took the offered gun, checking the magazine and taking a mental count of the remaining ammunition. Three shy of a full clip. If he used the remaining bullets wisely, he'd have plenty of ammunition to make it out of the base.

Shinigami switched to hand signals; with access to Duo's mind and memories, the god was mimicking Duo nearly perfectly. He motioned Quatre to get behind him as he flattened himself against the wall by the open door, gun raised. Another signal sent Quatre into a crouch beside him and Shinigami turned into the hall.

Unexpectedly, the hall was void of life as Shinigami cleared all corners of the hall with his empty gun before motioning out. The blonde rolled out to crouch beside the other, mirroring the earlier movement, covering all corners of the hall before he gave the 'ready' signal. Together, the two moved on.

The next half dozen halls were handled in the same manner. OZ was taking them too lightly. Quatre had given the 'hold' signal upon reaching the end of the sixth hall, the faint sound of troops just beyond.

"Listen, Quatre," Shinigami began quietly, hoisting his empty gun. "Got a favor to ask you."

"I think I know what it is," the blonde whispered back. "'Our little secret', right?"

Shinigami offered a wide grin. "At least until Duo the Dolt is ready to return to active duty.

_I heard that!_

Quatre chuckled but nodded. "However, you know I can't lie to my friends. And I get the feeling that Duo's orneriness will only increase two fold with you and your apparent immortality."

"How right you are. But I promise: I'll save my shits and giggles for OZ. It's much more fun to freak out complete strangers. I'll leave you lot to Duo."

"Gee, thanks."

----------------

To be continued…


	9. Party Games

Playing Stupid

Chapter 9

Party Games

-------------------------------

Shinigami and Quatre ducked down a seemingly random corridor, weaving through the labyrinth of the base without any direction. Schematics and plans of the base had long been forgotten when seemingly all ways were blocked by a throng of OZ soldiers, some nearly climbing over each other to get to the escaped pilots, others reeling back after apparently hearing about Duo Maxwell's supposed wakening from the dead.

A random observation tower later lead them through a catwalk overlooking a Mobile Suit bay, a small army of Suits covered with large tarps. All but one.

Shinigami glanced at it as he followed Quatre down the catwalks, noting with amusement that OZ mobile suits had extremely out-of-proportion heads to the rest of their body.

_Whoah, whoah, go back!_ Duo was yelling from their mind. _ What were those!_

"Hold up, Kat," the braided god slid to a stop on the catwalk, leaning over the railing. "What is it?" he asked out loud.

Quatre back-peddled, joining the other. With a gasp, he answered the same moment as Duo did from Shinigami's mind.

"Mobile Dolls!"

Shinigami grinned widely and turned to the blonde pilot. "We've got a plan."

--------------

"They're headed towards the Mobile Suit bay!" a commander was yelling, waving on a heard of troops in close pursuit of the escaped pilots. "We can corner them there!"

Treize was quietly bringing up the rear, irately thumbing the empty scabbard where his antique sword used to hang. If that heirloom did not find itself on his desk when he returned from his current pest extermination, there would be Hell to pay.

Rounding the corner, the Mobile Suit bay came into view, a line of soldiers with guns at the ready lining the upper catwalk.

"Split into teams no less than eight each. Work from this end of the bay outwards. Check everything, even the toilets! I want those pilots!"

A barrage of 'yessir's ran down the lines and soon the wall of soldiers was filing down the catwalk to do as told.

Without warning, the nearest tarp jerked to attention, creating a ripple effect that seemed to spread like a ripple on a pond to a great majority of the Mobile Suits in the bay. One by one, each tarp-covered Mobile Doll stood to attention, some knocking over military vehicles, other pulling loose from diagnostic equipment, showering the bay in sparks.

Treize pulled to an uneasy halt at the disturbance. "What the…"

"Sir," a random lieutenant began, listening intently to an ear piece. "All the Virgo Mobile Dolls, sir. Someone's started their defense program."

"Maxwell," Treize grumbled. Suddenly, his eyes went wide as saucers. Knowing the braided American lunatic's fancy for practical jokes, he could only expect the worst. "Fall back! Now!"

One at a time, the Dolls raised their hands to about shoulder level. Tarps fell from a good majority of the Dolls as they pursed their fingers together and opened and closed them in a quiet serenade of impacting metal.

Next, they all tucked their hands under their armpits as best they could, shaking their elbows up and down.

"For the love of…"

In unison, they all shimmied to the floor and back up again before clapping hands together in a nearly deafening pounding of metal.

Quatre had to chuckle to himself as he followed Duo into a ventilation shaft off the main bay control room. "The Chicken Dance, Duo?"

Shinigami offered a wide grin over his shoulder as he crawled on elbows through the shaft. "That'll keep them busy for a while. We also programmed the loudspeakers to play old Broadway show toons." As if on cue, various songs from Hairspray and Chicago began playing all at once in an indecipherable cacophony.

"Duo, if the Dolls are only dancing about, how is that supposed to keep OZ busy?"

Again, as if on cue, the sudden sound of dozens of Mobile Suits and various military equipment being pulverized shook the base.

"We also programmed the Dolls to form a mosh pit."

Quatre tumbled about as the base was very nearly being destroyed from the inside out. "You do have a plan for getting us out of here with our heads still intact, right?"

"Of course!" A bend in the ventilation shaft found them slip-sliding a bit down to the next level, a grate being kicked out in what looked like the base's mess hall.

"And exactly HOW are we getting out of here?"

"The front door, of course." Shinigami threw Quatre a 'well duh' look as he dropped out of the shaft, startling a few stray cafeteria ladies as they were cleaning up from the mass exodus of troops pulled into finding the two pilots.

One screamed and ran off into the back kitchens, Shinigami nabbing up the other into some odd dance to the horrible mix of music blasting overhead. She managed a scream before taking up a serving tray and bashing it upside his head, coating the dancing god in half-eatten french fries and most of a chocolate shake. It only added to the morbid mixture of dried blood and other body tissues that the body had accumulated during his previous re-enactment of Night of the Living Dead.

"Let's go!" Quatre tapped the other on the shoulder as he ran by, sidetracking to the lunch buffet and nabbing up a dinner roll and a handful of carrot sticks.

"You EAT that stuff?" Despite his complaints, Shinigami managed to raid the chip stand, pocket a small fortune in candy bars and take up a two-liter of diet cola as they ran out of the Cafeteria and back into the halls.

Together, they wound their way from the cafeteria, ducking down a few random halls with no troops in sight.

_Hey. Shall we see who's more ornery? Let's say, a bit of friendly competition?_ Duo asked as Shinigami rolled into another hall, once again finding it empty.

_You're on!_

_Me first._

_Why you?_

_My body. I get trump._

After another random hall with Shinigami playing Harrison Ford, the god finally gave in. _Fine. What's the plan?_

_We're unarmed, right?_

Shinigami shrugged to himself, motioning Quatre down a hall after him. _More or less. What's your point?_

_I notice you've pilfered some breath mints and a diet cola. Listen up and find me some ball bearings._

-------------

Shinigami motioned them both to the floor, the distinct sounds of heavy boots hitting the cement hallways echoing up to their ears. In hand, the god cuddled a bottle of diet cola. In the bottle opening, he was stuffing an alternating concoction of ball bearings and breath mints into a tube that had been stuffed with fizzy candy.

"They're coming closer," Quatre whispered behind him, hoisting his gun, ready to follow suit around the corner of the hall and launch the attack.

"Good. We're finished." The god hoisted the diet cola and dangled the fizzy-candy-and-breath-mint version of the Claymore mine. "Sit back and watch a master at work."

"Why does that phrase worry me?" Quatre whispered to himself.

The footfalls had just reached the corner when Shinigami rolled into the hall, still playing out the ridiculous Indiana Jones shtick he had been using for the past half dozen corners or so.

Apparently, the feat of bad acting worked its charm as the approaching soldiers were caught completely off guard, the company shuffling to an uneasy stop, running into each other and jostling about in a manner unbecoming a trained group of professional soldiers.

The momentary break was enough for Shinigami and Duo to launch their attack.

Dropping the fizzy-candy-and-breath-mint tube full of ball bearings into the diet cola, Shinigami quickly capped the pop and gave it a stiff shake, pointing it at the guards.

Once again, the guards all shuffled about not unlike a startled heard of goats, running into each other and clunking about.

There were a few awkward seconds of random flailing by the guards before they settled, realizing that whatever attack they were expecting wasn't coming. That, and the fact that the supposed aggressor was armed only with a bottle of cola.

"Mr. Sandman," Shinigami began to sing. "Bring me a dream. Bum-bum-bum-bum."

The pressure that had been building up within the cola bottle suddenly let loose, the cap popping off to release a sticky shower of cola, half-dissolved breath mints and ball bearings.

The small steel balls hit heads, stomachs and unprotected appendages like a paintball-gun gone bad, the breath mint bazooka pelting all in attendance with incapacitating stickiness that was sure to leave more than its fair share of bruises and incapacitation.

The carnage was over in seconds, the cola bottle fizzling out as the carbonated sugar drink was used up and the last of the ball bearings sputtered out to fall harmlessly onto the floor, rolling to rejoin their brothers and sisters who had managed to knock out the entire group of guards.

"Whoah," Quatre marveled, peaking around the corner. "How did you figure that one out?"

Shinigami turned with a grin, hefting the mostly-spent bottle of diet cola. "The Discovery Channel." He blew air over the opening of the bottle as if blowing the steam off of a smoking gun. "They're all down and out, and will wake up with headaches from Hell and various Charlie horses."

With a giggle, the cola bottle was tossed into the pile of passed-out guards and the two pilots were soon scaling the mountain of bodies and fleeing down the hall.

------------

Treize was marching through the corridors of the base with a purpose, a displeased scowl set on his face. "Report," he growled to an officer who was running to keep pace.

"The Mobile Dolls program has been terminated and reloaded, but the Suit bay has been destroyed. Only a dozen or so Dolls survived the incident in a condition that can be used for further combat. Engineering support estimates it will take six to eight months to get the entire battalion back in working order following the… incident… sir."

By 'incident', Treize knew the officer meant 'attack by Braided Menace."

"The two pilots have apparently escaped the machinery wing. A cafeteria worker claims a walking corpse fell out of the ceiling and began dancing with her."

Again. Braided Menace.

"The fourth patrol could not be contacted and a reconnaissance was sent. The entire troop was found unconscious, apparently felled by a sticky substance laden with ten dozen ball bearings fired at high velocity. All soldiers are currently recovering from bad bruising and concussions in the infirmary.

Treize growled. It had only been about half an hour since said braided menace had been shot between the eyes and lived to tell the tale. Only half an hour and already the base was in chaos. "I want Duo Maxwell off my base. Dead or alive. Understood?"

A salute followed the exit of the soldier, ducking down a side hall.

----------

_My turn_, Shinigami was saying as he led Quatre tumbling about a few other halls. Over his journeys, he had managed to find a fishing hat, planting it lopsided atop his head to help him in his Indiana Jones shtick.

_What's the plan?_

Shinigami was grinning widely as he rolled into another hall, Quatre following behind in a somewhat reluctant walk.

"Do you HAVE to roll around each corner?"

Shinigami threw the blonde Arab a confused look. "Of course! Are you mad? Where's the fun in just peaking around corners?" He made it a point to roll several times into the next hallway, the feat earning him a clunk on the head as he ran into the adjoining wall.

"See?"

_Hello!? Plan!?_ Duo called.

_Shush. I'm thinking!_

They had made it into one of the fuel rooms, piles of coal littering a far wall and various doors labeled with chemical symbols standing obediently closed. Rocket fuel canisters in one room proved too large to be of use, pounds of plastic explosives in another, too risky. But the last room found Shinigami with a huge smile painted over his face as he read the chemical symbol aloud. "Sulfide." He looked about madly until he found quite a stock of cleaning supplies. "Oooh! Ammonium Sulfide!"

Quatre's eyes went wide. "No! Are you kidding! Do you know what…"

Shinigami threw open the door to the room and immediately shot a hand to his nose as the distinct smell of rotten eggs hit him. "Worlds biggest stink bomb, anyone?"

----------

"Urgent call from the Vancouver Island Base," a soldier was saying, leaning into a spacious office.

Zechs Marquise nodded at the soldier, picking up the phone. "This is Zechs."

There was a brief moment of silence broken only by the sound of someone taking a gigantic breath of air before it let loose in one huge jumble of words, of which Zechs could only catch the occasional "menace" and "American idiot."

After a few minutes of verbal diarrhea through the phone, Zechs managed to surmise that an imprisonment went horribly wrong, Duo Maxwell was somehow un-killable and loose on the base commanded by Treize Khushrenada. "I'm on my way." He managed to get in, setting down the phone.

A stiff chill fell down his spine. Duo Maxwell, self-proclaimed Shinigami and master of mayhem himself, loose on an OZ base. And apparently, he was un-killable, as far as Zechs could discern.

With a gulp, he rose from his chair and began out of his office.

----------

Quatre had run off quickly to pilfer a few items from a storage closet in the fuel room, furiously tugging a gas mask over his face as he brought his armload of supplies.

In the middle of the fuel room, Shinigami was shoveling a towering pile of brilliant yellow sulfur into several piles. Around him, the boilers, furnaces and AC units had all been pried open, buckets of sulfur and bottle of ammonia hanging from wires, coat hangers and whatever else he could scrounge up.

Quatre had barely deposited his load of supplies when Shinigami nearly ran him flat, wrestling up the extra gas mask and pulling it over his head. "Phew!"

"Do I even dare ask what you're going to do?" Quatre said, his gas mask making him sound much like Darth Vader."

"Stink bomb," was all the other answered before diving into the pile of pilfered supplies.

"Yes. I know that," Quatre prompted. "Why are you…"

Twirling several pilot lighters about his fingers, Shinigami clicked one to flame and held it up to one of the many air ducts he had pulled away from the main air circulation system. "We're gonna take the highroad out of here… aka the ventilation ducts." He tested each pipe with the flame before one pipe in particular gently blew his flame back. He promptly crimped the pipe closed and went on.

"This cord," he said, hefting what looked like string, "burns at a specific length a minute. By my calculations," he said, gently laying out a few lengths of rope from the buckets of sulfur into a central spot on the floor. "Once I light this, we should have about five minutes to make like rats through the air duct."

"Five minutes? We can't be out of the base in five minutes. And if you're going to set fire to this mess," he gestured about the various bottles and buckets strung from the ceiling, "you'll blow this entire base sky high!"

Shinigami turned towards him, most likely grinning from behind the gas mask. "The amounts here are too small to explode, but they will make the entire base smell like bad ass gone wrong."

Quatre shivered at the thought.

"And plus, I'm sure the others are waiting for some sign to come and rescue us. There's no bigger way of saying 'here we are' than a towering blue flame bathed in the undeniable fragrance of rotten-eggs rear."

Scratching his head more in nervousness, Quatre watched as Shinigami carefully built his network of rope before herding him to an air duct.

"When I light this, we head up that pipe at mach ten, got it?"

The other nodded and began to pull the crumpled pipe away from the main furnace, wiggling his slender frame into the duct and starting on ahead of Duo. He had a gun, it was almost fully loaded, and running into anything threatening in the airshafts they were sabotaging was a next-to-none possibility.

"On the count of three," Shinigami's voice floated up the air vent after him. "One!"

Quatre began on elbows and knees, wiggling his way up the bend in the airshaft before it joined with a main vent and offered more space to maneuver.

"Two!"

A cool, fresh breeze was blowing towards him and he pealed off his gas mask, abandoning the headgear to make his trek easier.

"THREE!"

The sound in the air vent shifted unnaturally and the frantic sounds of someone scurrying up behind him eventually brought Shinigami up behind him. "Move your ass, Kat! We have five minutes!"

----------

Treize pinched the bridge of his nose. He had ordered reports of everything: missing towels from the bathroom, cans of deodorizer gone unaccounted. Everything. Judging from past missions that saw OZ go up against the booby traps set by one particular braided pilot, Duo Maxwell could turn a jar of peanut butter and a ballpoint pen into a weapon of mass destruction.

An inventory of the mess hall had come up with half a dozen snack foods missing, including the two-liter cola, breath mints and fizzy candy used to knock out nearly two dozen men in a corridor of the base. The loss of carrot sticks and a dinner roll he attributed to Quatre Rabarba Winner and ignored that information.

"Next," he grumbled, tossing the mess hall report. He thought about narrowing his search to more dangerous forms of supplies, but seeing as how an everyday bottle of cola had been turned into a machine gun, he kept all options opened.

"So far, the mess hall has been the only major finding. All over the base, there are various things missing; rope, some matches, a few buckets, two gas masks, a roll of pink tape, some…"

"Hold on," Treize said, grabbing the report from the officer. "Two gas masks?"

The officer looked confused and concerned at the same time.

"And matches," Treize finished. "He's planning on setting something on fire. Something that will smell pretty bad." He pounded a fist into an open palm. "Ideas. Give me some ideas!"

"Um… maybe…" the officer chewed a lip. "Maybe he's going to set the bathrooms on fire?"

"Hmm. That's one option. Others. Give me more."

The officer thought a moment, tapping a finger on his chin as the overhead air conditioner kicked on. As he thought, a funny odor drifted to his nose. An odor not unlike a particularly bad odor that would tend to come from one's posterior.

He looked up and noticed Treize was giving him a skeptical look. "No! Not me, sir!" the officer raised his hands in defense. "I didn't…"

Treize eyes went wide moments before a large bang was heard from somewhere in the base, followed closely by shuddering of walls and a rather hot wind that shot from the overhead vents, the distinct smell of rotten eggs suddenly overwhelming his senses.

----------

Wu Fei scanned the base with his binoculars, painstakingly surveying the base for the 'sign' that was sure to come from Duo Maxwell.

"Put those down, you're wasting your time," Trowa said, a hint of boredom in his tone. "If it's a sign from Duo, we'd be able to see it from space or hear it from the Grand Canyon. Remember Sicily?"

Heero grunted. "He managed to make every bell tower on the island chime "Old McDonald" for three hours straight."

Wu Fei reluctantly lowered his binoculars. "The base is five miles off," he pointed over a forested valley where the dim lights of the base could just be made out in the dim light of the moon. "How can we tell he's sent a signal if…"

Without warning, the base suddenly began to glow an eerie blue in the distance. Whirling about, Wu Fei raised his binoculars to find that it seemed that blue flames were leaping from open windows and air vents about the base. "Well, I'll be damned," he whispered.

"THAT would be the signal," Trowa said, hoisting himself to his feet.

"How can we be certain it's not a trap?" Wu Fei, still unconvinced, asked.

It was just then that the unfortunately recognizable stench of rotten eggs hit them.

"Sulfur," the Chinese pilot cursed.

Heero wrinkled his nose and grabbed the hoist to his Gundam. "It's Duo, alright," and he put the sleeve of his shirt to his nose. "Let's go."

-------------

to be continued ...


	10. Out the Front Door

Playing Stupid  
Chapter 10  
Out the Front Door

--------------------

Fresh air never smelled sweeter to Quatre as he tumbled out of the air shaft and into a rather uncomfortable bush that had been placed just so as to feebly hide the existence of the once grated ventilation shaft opening.

Dawn was just beginning to poke over the horizon, a thin sliver of reddish light beginning to paint the tops of the trees that camouflaged the base. Around thehigh-fenced compound, the pine forests of the lower mainland of Canada's western coast were beginning to stir with life, as told by a black squirrel hurrying quickly across the yard.

Almost immediately as he impacted the hard earth, the gas mask was ripped from Quatre's face and tossed into the bush that had poorly managed to break his fall, Quatre certain he would be nursing bruises and some rather nasty scrapes in places Duo would surely find comical for the next few weeks at least.

He paused a moment and took a long, deep breath of the damp forest air, picking out the smell of the evergreen trees, like a sticky-sweet yet pungent flavor to the air.

"Geronimo!!!"

Quatre scrambled for his footing, still nearly chest deep in the uncomfortable bush he had landed in, giving way only moments before Shinigami popped out of the ventilation shaft, landing ass first in the snarl of limbs and stiff foliage.

Odd silence draped over the compound for a few unnatural seconds before a low and steady groan grew from within the bush, a shake managing to belch out a gas mask before a head of chestnut brown hair popped out, a dead twig sticking out from the meter long braid at a rather comical angle. "Who the hell put this bush here!?"

Quatre giggled softly and pushed himself to his feet, turning to survey the compound beyond.

They had come out of the ventilation shafts into some sort of equipment yard, the boxed-in units for air conditioners, furnace exhausts and water heaters all lined precisely in a portion of the yard. They seemed to be the only objects of interest on this side of the facility, stacked up against the base's interior walls, and the exterior barricades, which had to be at least fifteen feet tall, trimmed with razor wire.

Security seemed to be pretty nonexistent in this area as well as Quatre could spot no video surveillance or patrols, as anyone on foot would have surely heard the commotion. "I think the coast is clear," he said quietly.

The bush only moaned, having long swallowed Duo Maxwell again.

"Duo." Quatre sighed and reached into the bush, feeling around for his comrade.

"Hey, watch where you're grabbing, pal!"

"Sorry." With a great heave, Quatre managed to extract the American pilot from the push, the two landing in a plop beside the bush. "So, we're out of the base interior. Now what?"

"Like I said," Shinigami began, pulling himself to his feet and dusting down his pants. "We just waltz right out the front door."

"And that would be…?"

Shinigami scoffed and was just about to explain his devious plan in more detail than absolutely necessary when a base-wide alarm suddenly tripped like an air raid siren.

"They found us?" Quatre asked over the whirling siren, ducking back down beside the bush.

"Not likely." Black eyes began to survey the yard before a very large and very obvious glitch in the night sky explained the sudden alarm. Five very large glitches, to be exact; The unmistakable form of five mobile suits silhouetted against the dimly illuminated sky.

"Hey. They got my message!" Shinigami cheered, hopping to his feet.

"Your message?"

Shinigami threw a thumb over his shoulder to the base. "Twenty-foot tall blue fart beacon. What else?"

Quatre's mouth twitched a moment, remembering the brief whiff of Duo's last prank before he could slap on the gas mask. And all that smell had to go somewhere; the base wasn't going to be air tight for long.

It was time to make their exit, and it wasn't a moment too soon for Quatre. He wanted to do little more than put the night's events behind him. And he was more than eager to be rid of the OZ base.

The buzz of an overhead communications system snapped on, static jamming the frequency a moment before a rather bland voice announced its presence. "Quatre. Duo."

"Heero! My hero!" Duo wiped an imaginary tear from his eye and managed to drag himself from the ground. "I always knew you cared."

"Shut up," the Gundam answered. "We've been detected. Board your Gundams. Now."

Ever straight and to the point.

Quatre hurried off to do just that, Sandrock on autopilot setting down in the yard before them in a localized tornado of dust and leaves, followed similarly by Deathschye.

A mouth full of dirt and leaves was almost a welcome nuisance as Quatre hurried to the elevator line that was quickly descending from his Gundam, hopping aboard. "Duo! Come on!"

Shinigami still stood where he had pulled himself to his feet only moments ago, a devious gleam lighting the unnatural black eyes. No one would have to ask what thoughts were rolling through that head.

"Maxwell! Get your ass in gear! What are you doing!?" bellowed Shenlong's loudspeaker.

… no one except Wu Fei Chang, that is.

And without another word, Shinigami spun and disappeared into the bush hiding the ventilation grate.

------------------------------

Heero Yui frowned as the bush swallowed Duo Maxwell and stopped all movement. "Baka."

"He hasn't caused enough chaos yet?" Trowa's voice came over the communication line.

A sharp click sounded throughout the cabin before Wu Fei's line opened. "I'm sure we'll hear every last detail. Over. And over. And over again…"

A corner of Heero's external feed fizzled before it resolved into a view of Sandrock's cabin, Quatre settling in, buckling his five-point harness over the splattered, bloody mess that was his white pressed shirt.

"Christ, Quatre! What happened!" Trowa's voice actually sounded worried.

The other waved it off. "Later. Right now, we get out of here and come back for Duo later."

"Do we have to?" Wu Fei put in with a snort.

One by one, the Gundams lifted into the air, small localized tornados kicking up beneath them to pick up every little bit of debris available at their disposal, sandblasting the forest and side of the compound. And with Deathschythe on autopilot, moving into an obedient position beside Wing Zero, the Gundam's took off into the dawn just as the base's security battalion scrambled.

-----------------------------

To be continued…

Two more chapters, and we're DONE!


	11. One If By Land Two If By Bee

Playing Stupid

Chapter 11: One if by Land, Two if by Bee

* * *

Zechs had been called in from the Corsica base to help deal with the braided menace that had reportedly taken up inhabitance in the overhead ventilation system. Despite a base-wide sweep, the skinny little twerp could hide like nobody's business. Hours were spent combing the halls and vents to hopefully catch the annoyance before his next plan could be set into action.

Unfortunately, the latest prank resulted in the base smelling like one gigantic rotten egg fart, much to the chagrin of the base's personnel.

The ventilation system had been fixed quickly since said incidence and was pumping in fresh air as if life depended on it. Thankfully, it was a cool summer day outside and the air being pumped in at frantic speeds was fragrant and pleasant. Anything smelled better than a base-wide rotten egg wind.

With his office finally smelling relatively free of odors, Zechs had just began filing through the base's incident reports – of which there were almost a dozen – when something caught his ear.

A patter of feet, like some one was running through the halls barefoot, caused him to look up in curiosity, abandoning his review of the base report. He raised an eyebrow when a certain braided menace fled past his open office door, flailing about as if trying to wave off a swarm of insects.

Zechs frowned. Knowing Duo Maxwell and the stunts he had already pulled on the base, the display was most likely a ruse to lure him from the relative safety of his office. He'd be forced to step out into the open halls where the next prank awaited.

This time, he'd get the better of the teenaged pilot. He was sure of it.

Seconds later, the patter of bare feet brought Duo Maxwell back before his office door, the American pausing in his flailing momentarily to swing his arms wildly in circles at something unforeseen down the hallway before running off again.

Zechs wasn't falling for the Yankee's current prank.

Overhead, the ventilation system was blowing a nice mixture of cool, fresh air into the windowless office. Zechs thought momentarily about getting up to close his office door, ignoring the prankster altogether, but that also might trigger the next bizarre trap. Instead, he was content to sit back and listen to the soft hum of the air conditioning.

Minutes past and Zechs thought he should have seen some sign of the braided menace by now. Things were quiet, save for the droning hum coming from the ventilation overhead.

A bit too quiet.

And since when did the ventilation system hum?

Blue eyes went wide in realization. The hum was getting louder.

Something buzzed by his ear, Zechs swatting at the side of his face at, to his utter surprise, what turned out to be a bee. A further sweep of the office found a few bees trickling in from the ventilation overhead, the hum of a swarm getting closer and closer.

"You have got to be joking." With the ventilation system set to frantically pump in outside air to blow out the sulfur smell, they had left themselves wide open for yet another attack by the air system.

Bees began to pour from the overhead air vent, Zechs giving in and hurrying out of his office, slamming the door closed behind him, hoping to lock out the swarm of irate honey factories.

The halls were beginning to fill with others ousted from their offices by the yellow insects. And much to their dismay, bees were also swarming into the halls from open vents in the halls and spaces under office doors.

Zechs sighed lightly. "Everyone, converge in the Mobile Suit bay," he began, given that whatever was left of the Mobile Doll's defense program had not been reprogrammed – again - to take some sick part in this prank. He wouldn't put it past the crazy pilot to program the giant mechas all to be bee exterminators. OZ engineers were still making repairs to the bay from the Chicken Dance incident that had resulted in a Mobile Suit mosh pit.

The quickly crowding halls full of flailing personnel were just beginning to migrate to the bays when the overhead sprinklers went off.

Zechs was not amused. His long, golden locks were plastered instantly to his face, hair dripping with a surprisingly fragrant liquid.

An eyebrow twitched as he stuck out his tongue. Sweet. Woody. "Honey," he groaned. It was watered down so that the golden substance could flow through the pipes, but it was honey, alright.

Bees began to swarm despite the indoor rain storm, screams of surprise and apparent bee stings beginning to erupt all over the base.

A stray bee landed on Zech's nose. The blonde's reaction time was far to slow…

* * *

A mad giggle ran through the halls as a trail of candy wrappers marked the exodus of Shinigami, the braided god ducking into a storage closet, stuffing a towel under the door to seal the room. There were no sprinklers installed in the closet, but there was a healthy supply of moldy-smelling mops and cleaning supplies.

Shinigami pressed an ear to the door a moment, listening to the mass chaos that was surely well underway outside. He could hear frantic footsteps rushing past the closet door, could hear a few of the OZ soldiers barking hasty orders, and he swore he heard the distinct hiss of bug spray.

_Good one_, Duo congratulated from their mind. _I would have never thought of pumping honey into the overhead sprinklers_.

_Naturally_. Shinigami pushed away from the door, being rewarded with a bonk on the head as he displaced a random broom. _Your turn._

Duo paused a moment. _We need a lighter of some sorts_. _And_ g_rab the air freshener_.

_Ah. You must be running out of ideas if you're resorting to fire again._

_Shut up. Just grab the air fresheners. _

Shinigami shrugged, turning and rummaging through the storage closet. A few cans of aerosol air fresheners were soon being tucked under his arm, the god also managing to find a pilot light igniter. _Care to clue me in?_

Duo chuckled. _Aerosol air freshener plus cigarette lighter equals floral-scented flamethrower!_

* * *

Base wide, personnel had managed to quickly disable the sprinkler system which was half the latest prank. Granted, everyone knew that diabling a fire protection system would, of course, put them at risk for an attack by fire. But Zechs had managed to convince everyone that Duo Maxwell was in this for the shits and giggles and not to cause mass injury or death.

Of course, convincing a few hundred military officers that an apparently un-killable Gundam pilot who called himself The God of Death was just a harmless prankster, was less than easy.

Zechs was calmly returning to his office after convincing the base personnel of their safety, pausing just outside the closed office door, a bee sting slowly building to hilarious proportions on the end of his nose.

It took a great deal of courage for him to reach out for the door handle and give it a turn. So far, the coast was clear.

Taking a deep breath, Zechs flung open the door and dove for cover into the hall way. But much to his paranoid precautions, only a stray bee meandered busily from the office.

With an annoyed sigh, Zechs pushed himself back to his feet, cautiously peaking around the door frame to make a quick sweep of his office. And again, much to his near disappointment, not so much as a pencil was out of place.

Cautious feet lead him into the office, checking first behind the door for stray braided lunatics, then behind the coat rack, under his desk. He was just about to settle into his large office chair when he noticed something quite out of place on the black leather seat.

A whoopee cushion. It claimed verily upon its red rubber surface to be 'the butt of all jokes.'

A blonde eyebrow twitched in annoyance and the party gag was slapped off the chair to land in a defeated flup on the floor. And with a great boneless plop, he let himself into the office chair…

And soon found himself dumped on the floor in a sprawl of limbs as the large chair seemed to disintegrate underneath him. It didn't take a genius to determine that every nut and bolt had been painstakingly removed from his favorite chair and stacked so as to crumble upon any type of load.

The Lightning Count hauled himself to his feet and stormed out of his office, slamming the door shut behind him. Duo Maxwell was making fun of him. And no one made fun of Zechs Marquise and lived to bear children.

Absently, he scratched the bee sting on the end of his nose

Apparently, Treize was no more impressed at the American pilot's switch in humor as Zechs met up with the irked General.

"Whoopee cushion?" he asked.

"Rubber chicken," the other corrected with a grumble.

Together, the two strode in silence down the hall and around a corner, coming to a stop outside the door to one of the Mobile Suit bay control towers.

Treize gave the other a sideways glance. "I want Duo Maxwell off my base. I don't care if we have to beg. He leaves. Now."

"Agreed." Zechs had only been on the base a little less than 48 hours and had already fallen victim to three of the Gundam pilot's twisted pranks, the latest evident by the enormous bee sting on the tip of his sniffer.

Treize turned the handle to the tower room and opened the door. Foolishly, he did not bother to check for any special modifications from a certain braided psycho.

Waiting for them on the other side of the door, Duo Maxwell, toothy grin spreading ear to ear, awaited their arrival with a can of air freshener and a pilot lighter.

Eyes going wide, both officers hit the deck as the home made flame thrower burst to life, a flower-scented inferno blowing by overhead, singeing their pants.

"Surrender yet?" the American giggled, twirling the lighter about his finger before pocketing it in an ornery version of a bad Clint Eastwood western.

"Fine! Fine!" Treize wailed from the floor. "We surrender! Just leave!"

Shinigami snorted and sighed as if he was bored. "That's it? No cursing? No fighting? I must say, I'm kinda disappointed."

Treize righted himself and rose to his feet, shaking out a flame that still burned on the laces of his boots. "Get out."

"No lovely parting gifts?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Take whatever you want and leave."

Duo shrugged and sighed again. "What ever I want?"

Treize had to clench a fist to keep from clocking the teen in the jaw. But his display earlier of apparently being able to bounce back from a point-blank bullet to the head had taught Treize that discretion was the better part of valor. "Whatever you want."

"Fine. I want OZ off this base and out of the country."

Treize actually fumbled for words. He expected to hand over half the Mobile Doll fleet, or relinquish the last ten years in top secret experimental weaponry. But to completely vacate?

"I can hop back in the air ducts if that's too much to ask?"

"No!" both officers yelled in unison.

Shinigami grinned an ornery grin and crossed his arms over his chest.

* * *

To be continued… one more chapter to go!


End file.
